


To Be Played At Maximum Volume

by churchkey



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Campy, Cycling, Drag, Falling In Love, Flirting, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24426889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churchkey/pseuds/churchkey
Summary: Welcome to the Easy Rider Cycling Club, whose members include a couple of scared and lonely riders named Dick Winters and Lew Nixon, who wanna know if love is wild babe, they wanna know if love is real. Perhaps they can show each other. If Lew ever gets divorced and if Ron stops looking at him like he wants to literally murder him and make it look like an accident.
Relationships: Buck Compton/George Luz, Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs, Joseph Liebgott/David Webster, Kitty Grogan/Harry Welsh, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Just About Starvin' Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Dick and Lew meet at a Halloween party and fall instantly in love, because of course they do, but there are Obstacles, because of course there are. Also featuring lots of Bowie and Springsteen references, the National Guard, Webster in drag, and Speirton being #RelationshipGoals.

Dick was using his sleeve to dry off the bottle of beer he’d just pulled from the cooler when he saw him walk in, a vision in ripped denim who seemed to have sprung directly from his adolescent fantasies to take the tangible form of a handsome stranger, both mysterious and unmistakably familiar. 

He twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long sip. His eyes followed the man as he ambled slowly through the living room in search of a face he knew. Dick watched him remove his aviator sunglasses and hang them from the pocket of his shirt, giving him a clearer look at his face. There was something Hollywood Golden Age about him, the Montgomery Clift eyebrows, the Rock Hudson chin. A matinee idol in glossy black and white. 

“Hey, Boss!” 

He watched as the man gave George an awkward little wave, but didn’t stop to talk. Dick looked at George from across the room, raised one questioning eyebrow. George just shrugged and shook his head faintly in response. 

So he wasn’t from the bike shop, which meant Harry probably didn’t know him either. He supposed the likeliest possibility was that he was a college friend of David’s, but he looked too old for that. He looked closer to Dick’s age. Perhaps one of Joe’s colleagues at the paper? He couldn’t account for his rapt curiosity, other than the fact that he was so gorgeous and his costume so perfect and Dick suddenly had a very strange feeling that his entire life had been leading up to this moment. 

He continued to watch him as he walked into the kitchen to fix himself a drink, inspecting several of the bottles lined up on the counter before finding one that apparently pleased him. He tipped a long pour into a plastic cup and added a splash of tonic water. As he was taking his first drink, Lip approached him and shook his hand, and then Dick saw his face spread into an alluring smile, his dark eyes glinting with contradictions. Friendly but maybe a little dangerous too; sweet but desperately sexy. There was a torrent of lust stopped up behind those eyes, Dick could tell just by looking at him. He decided then and there that he would be the one to open the spigot. 

He walked over to a man crouched in front of the media cabinet, meticulously examining Joe and David’s vinyl collection. 

“Hey Ron.”

The man removed a Pavement album from the stack and placed it on top of the cabinet. 

“Hey Starman."

“Who’s that guy talking to Carwood?”

Ron’s head swiveled, instinctively possessive but nonchalant at the same time. He went back to flipping through the records. 

“That is Bruce Springsteen,” he said robotically. “He is a rock star from New Jersey.” 

“I’m serious.”

Ron shrugged. “Hell if I know. Never seen him before.”

“Your husband seems to know him.”

“Yeah, well... “ Ron slid another record from the pile. “That’s why she’s your cruise director and I’m your captain.” 

Dick took a closer look at Ron’s white shirt with the epaulettes on the shoulders, the matching white shorts. He looked across the room at Lip in his jacket with the nametag and the white piping along the broad 70’s collar, holding a clipboard. He smacked his forehead as revelation dawned on him. 

“Love Boat! I thought you guys were just gay sailors or something.” 

“He’s wearing a pants suit.” 

“I don’t know.” Dick shrugged one shoulder. “Navy uniforms are kind of feminine.”

Ron tipped his head to the side, conceding the point. 

“He’s so cute. Don’t you think he’s cute?” Dick was still staring at the stranger, mentally willing him to look in his direction.

“He’s fine, I guess,” Ron said, not even looking at him. Dick was undaunted. 

“I’m gonna go talk to him.” 

Ron exhaled a bored sigh. “Go get ‘em, Tiger. Get me another beer while you’re at it.”

But Dick was already walking away. 

***

Lew had noticed the man the moment he’d walked in the door. Hard to miss that fiery hair and dramatic red thunderbolt bisecting his face. But it was something more than that, too. Something about the way his full lips curved around the mouth of that beer bottle, how his throat flexed as he swallowed. He was sexy, sure. But there seemed to hang about him an aura of intensity and Lew was certain that underneath his cool expression was a roiling sea containing multitudes. He could already feel himself getting sucked into the undertow. 

He looked around at the men gathered in little pockets of three or four, all in costume, some in drag, setting each other up for punchlines that, when delivered, made all assembled roar with exuberant laughter. He didn’t recognize a single person but he was already glad he’d come. Maybe this was what had been missing from his life. Sitting alone in a gay bar was better than being at home, but this was a celebration of youth and flamboyance and authenticity that he’d rarely had the chance to experience. Here, he could fool himself for a little while that he really belonged, had friends who really knew him and liked him this way. That he’d meet someone and go home with him and have sex with him and and maybe even fall in love. 

In a different life, maybe. Not this one. But at least for tonight, he could pretend. 

He knew he should find Carwood and thank him for the invitation, introduce himself to the hosts. Though judging by the empty bottles and glasses strewn across every surface and the constant stream of people in and out the door, it struck him as the type of party where everyone just showed up without even knowing the hosts. They probably just wandered in off the street, attracted by the conversations spilling out onto the porch and the post-punk dance-rock pouring from the open windows. 

He made his way to the bar and mixed himself a Tanqueray and tonic. His eyes had begun to wander to the corner where he’d first spotted that tall drink of water when Carwood found him and immediately began introducing him around as “Lew, a friend from work.” That was how he met Joe, one of the hosts, whose name he recognized from his regular column in the sports page. Not that he cared all that much about sports, but he kept up well enough for small talk, and Joe had an accessible writing style that made those conversations a lot easier.

It was also how he met David, the other host, a disturbingly attractive young thing in a tiny black romper with a plunging neckline and black stockings and black bowler hat, under which Lew could see a mop of black curls teased into a sassy bob. He looked at Joe again, at the dramatic red lips and dark eyes set against a thick dusting of white powder, and realized that he and David had a whole Cabaret thing going on, which struck him as incredibly romantic. The only thing he’d ever matched with his wife were the flowers at their wedding sixteen years ago, which had wilted by the time they’d cut the cake. 

“Hurts like a motherfucker,” David was saying as Joe slid his palm down his newly-waxed chest. “I could never be a real drag queen.”

“You look real enough to me,” Lew said. David preened and kissed his cheek and asked Carwood where he’d been hiding this daddy, and then an unmistakable pungence wafted through the room and he left abruptly to find the ill-bred dirtbags with the nerve to blaze up inside his home rather than on the back porch like decent people. Joe followed a step behind with a murderous look in his eyes. 

And that was when Lew saw him walking towards them, loveliness itself in tight vintage hip huggers and legs that went on for days. 

“Hey Dick,” Carwood said warmly. “Nice make-up.” 

“Thanks. Joe did it.” Lew saw his eyes flash briefly in his direction and then back to Carwood, clearly trying to send him a hint.

“Oh,” Carwood said with a little head shake. “Sorry. Lew, this is -”

“Aladdin Sane.” Lew offered the man his hand to shake, which he did, slowly, and for longer than necessary. “We go way back.”

“I could say the same of you.” 

“Is that right?” It was so easy to match his flirty rhythm, and so tempting to crank the dial up a notch with each exchange. 

“Yeah.” A self-conscious look suddenly came into the man’s face and he dropped Lew’s hand, stuffed his own into his back pocket. When he spoke again, his voice was friendlier, less obvious. “I had a poster of you on my bedroom wall all through high school.” He looked at Carwood. “Think I’ve still got it somewhere.”

Unconvinced by the flimsy attempt to involve him in the conversation, Carwood stepped away from them.

“I’d better go make sure none of their records accidentally wind up in our car again.”

Lew quirked his brow in confusion but the man just laughed and wished him luck. He began to ask Lew a question but then stopped abruptly, remembering something. 

“Lip, wait.” He plucked a bottle from the ice-filled sink. “I said I’d get him another beer.” 

Carwood looked at the bottle, at the man, at Lew, and then back at the man again. Some barely perceptible message lit up his eyes for the briefest moment and then he turned and left them there, alone in the crowd, and all of a sudden Lew couldn’t think of a single thing to say, not one goddamn word. 

***

Twenty minutes later they were seated in an antique church pew by the stairs discussing their favorite Bowie albums. Lew had argued that it was an impossible question and you had to narrow it down by decade, but then Dick had pointed out that the 70’s alone saw such an evolution of his style that the distinction was arbitrary and they’d have better luck deciding based on purpose and function. Which turned into a rousing back and forth of “best album for Cold War nostalgia” and “best album to recommend to a novice” and “best album for when you randomly bump into your ex and he’s with someone hotter than you and it completely destroys your weekend.” 

“What if you were trying to seduce someone?” Dick asked, just to test the water. They’d kept it mostly polite since that first heated exchange in the kitchen, but now he wanted to make sure that it hadn’t been wishful thinking, that this powerful, inexorable force he felt guiding them down a path that led directly to his bedroom wasn’t all in his head. 

Lew just chuckled, a bit embarrassed, and shook his head. “I don’t know. Ziggy Stardust, I guess.”

Dick let it drop after that. He hadn’t thought he was coming on too strong, but he couldn’t get a clear read on Lew. One moment it seemed that he’d like nothing more than for Dick to drop to his knees, unbutton his Levi’s, and smear face paint and glitter all over his inner thighs as he sucked him dry. The next he looked like he hadn’t the faintest idea how he’d ended up here and was scanning the room for the nearest exit.

Awkward silence settled around them for just a moment, and then Lew cleared his throat and asked in a tone that was just shy of businesslike how Dick knew Carwood. 

“Through Ron,” Dick said. “His husband. I work with him out at the Guard.”

Lew brightened up at that. “The Guard? Like, National Guard?” 

“Yeah,” Dick said in an overly friendly tone; for some reason, he felt the need to put Lew at ease. “I enlisted right after high school, mainly because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life. After I graduated from Basic I still didn’t know, so I went active duty for a few years. When I got tired of that, I transferred into the Guard and went back to school.” 

A look of studied fascination had come into Lew’s face. Dick always found it slightly embarrassing to talk about his military service, especially when people responded with that weird, obligatory gratitude that they didn’t actually feel. You could only really understand it if you’d been there and lived it, so he avoided the topic with civilians as much as possible. 

“And Iraq, Afghanistan, were you ever…” Lew seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Were you a part of that?”

“One tour in Afghanistan, three in Iraq.” 

“Wow,” Lew said softly. Dick just nodded. He was really hoping not to get into a discussion of what they’d done over there and whether he was scared and how much danger he’d been in - the types of things people usually wanted to know, and which Dick didn’t feel were any of their business. He’d have to deal with all of that again soon enough. But Lew just shook his head faintly and looked at his feet. 

“What do you do now?” he asked after a moment. His voice had dropped to a murmur and he’d crossed his legs, folding his hands around his knee, and leaned a bit closer to Dick. “If you’re not on active duty anymore?”

“I’m an academic advisor at the U.” 

“Really?” Lew’s face lit up in surprise. “So you, like… help the freshmen register for classes and make sure everyone graduates on time?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Dick said. “It’s not terribly exciting or anything, but I like it. It’s pretty easy most days.” He knew it must’ve sounded dreadfully boring compared to the military, but he hoped he’d managed to seem content and satisfied with his day job. Which he wasn’t, but Lew didn’t need to know that. 

“What about Ron?” Lew asked. “Carwood hasn’t said much about him. Please tell me he’s a kindergarten teacher.”

Dick laughed at that. “No, he’s full time out there. He’s my crew chief, actually.” 

“So he’s like your boss?” 

“Kind of,” Dick said. “He’s an officer, so yeah, I guess technically. But we’ve been friends for so long it doesn’t really seem to matter.” 

He thought of the first time they’d met, just after Ron had transferred to the unit. He’d cornered Dick in the avionics shop and introduced himself, said he knew who Dick was and knew that he was gay and that he was also gay and so they’d have to stick together because the Army was full of homophobic assholes and this Lieutenant wasn’t about to lose his pension for kicking the shit out of one of them, which is exactly what would happen if anyone tried to fuck with them, and would Dick like to have dinner with him and his husband next Friday? 

After that, the distinctions of rank and privilege separating them seemed to just disappear. But how Ron had figured out that he was gay Dick still didn’t know for sure. 

“You’re not an officer?”

Dick gasped as though grievously offended, but then let his face melt into another warm smile. “NCO. But I’m only one promotion away from the highest I can go without a commission.” 

Lew nodded, impressed. “Well I hope you get it.” 

“Thanks,” Dick said simply. After being passed over for a revolving door of worthless opportunists for so long, he didn’t really believe he’d make Sergeant Major before he retired. But a boy could dream. 

“What about you?” 

“I’m not an officer either,” Lew said, a wry grin playing at his lips. 

“I mean what do you do?” Dick asked. “Lip said you work together. Do you make windows too?” He honestly wasn’t entirely certain what Carwood’s startup did exactly, just that it had something to do with windows. 

“No,” Lew began in an even tone that sounded slightly amused, like he was trying to figure out how to put something delicately. “I own a small VC fund. We’re backing his company so they can move forward on scale.” 

Dick blinked a few times. Where to begin. “VC?”

“Venture capitalist.” 

“You’re a _venture capitalist_?” Dick asked, incredulous. “I didn’t know that was a real job.”

“Yeah.” Lew said with a little self-effacing tuck of his chin. “It does sound sort of made up.” 

Dick got the feeling he was trying to play it down, and worried briefly that he’d been rude. 

“So you’re helping his company - scale something? What’s that?” 

“We basically try to find small companies with great ideas and give them the capital they need to grow,” Lew explained. “Then when they sell or another investor comes in, we take a percentage of that.” 

Dick nodded; he was beginning to understand. It didn’t sound so different from what he did helping college kids make it to the next stage in their careers. It just involved a hell of a lot more money. 

“They’ve done all the research and developed the technology and created their prototypes,” Lew went on, “and now we’ll help them scale it to the market.” 

The unexpected economics lesson, which Dick realized was probably being explained to him at the second-grade level, was made all the more surreal by the fact that it was coming from a man dressed as his first true love, whose blue-jeaned ass on the cover of Born in the U.S.A. had inspired the majority of his masturbatory fantasies throughout that tumultuous period of his life he now thought of as his sexual awakening. He became aware that he had an erection. 

“So they’re going to be making a lot of windows now, thanks to you.” 

“Well, not the windows themselves,” Lew clarified patiently. “Carwood’s company makes the insulating layer that goes between the panes. A different company makes the windows.” 

Dick felt like he probably should have known that. He also felt like he’d had about as much discussion of window technology as he could stand for one night. He shifted to face Lew, hanging one elbow over the back of the pew. 

“I can’t get over how much you look like him.” His eyes swept down Lew’s face, shoulders, chest. “I think it’s the bandana.”

Lew smiled and adjusted the knot at the back of his head. He looked at his bare arms. “I don’t really have the guns to pull it off, but…” He lifted one perfectly round shoulder in a tiny shrug. “Fuck it, it’s just for fun.” 

Dick chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to decide if he was crazy or if Lew had started flirting with him again. He traced a fingertip along the ragged hem of his torn shirtsleeve. He swallowed. “Well I think you look great.” 

“Thanks.” Lew seemed to be trying very hard not to let his grin take over his whole face. “I think you look great too.” 

Dick tipped his head to the side and smiled modestly. “With this hair, my Halloween options are sort of limited.” 

“You’re a dead ringer for him,” Lew said. “That make-up is incredible.” He brought his fingertips to Dick’s jaw and pretended it was just to inspect him closer and not an excuse to touch him. “Of course to be true the album cover…” His hand fell to Dick’s shirt, and he hooked one finger under his collar. “You’d have to take this off.” 

Dick looked down at where Lew’s hand was resting against his chest. He could feel his entire body rejoice, every cell rising up to cry out in one ecstatic refrain: _YES!_ This was going to happen after all. He wanted Lew and Lew wanted him back and now all they had to do was - 

He was interrupted by the sudden flicking of lightswitches on and off and David yelling at everyone to get their pretty asses to the stage because the bitch was about to light it up. Lew laughed and dropped his hand to his lap. 

“I suppose -” 

Dick’s heart sunk. “Yeah.” 

They stood and joined the rest of the crowd in the living room. 

***

If any doubt remained that Lew had indeed found his people, it was dispelled by the hooting and catcalling and unison finger-snapping as David executed a perfect lip-synched rendition of “Mein Herr”, with all of the vamping and high kicks and chair-humping that entailed. He’d never seen anything like it, other than in the original Kander and Ebb musical, which was of course made into the 1972 film starring Liza Minnelli and Joel Grey, and which Lew had seen more times than he cared to admit. But he’d never seen anything like it in real life and he was beginning to realize how much he’d been missing. 

Toward the end, David started really working the crowd, draping his elegant long arms around their necks, thrusting his ass out for them to spank. When he tried that on Dick, Lew saw him shake his head and wave his hands dismissively. Ron seemed to have no qualms about it and performed the duty in Dick’s stead with apparent gusto. After it was over, a group of them moved to a corner by the window. Ron and Carwood took one side of the sectional and Dick and Lew sat on the other while Joe perched on the ottoman, gracefully sipping a martini. 

They talked about last year’s party and the lives of people he didn’t know, and Lew was starting to feel himself fade into the background when David drifted over and alighted on the arm of the sectional, next to Dick. He wrapped his arm loosely around his shoulders and leaned close to speak in his ear, but Lew could still hear him. 

“Are you guys together?” he murmured, and Dick made a strange face that was a combination of pained and hopeful, a message for him to shut the fuck up, he might jinx it. Lew felt guilt like acid wash through him as he realized how obviously he’d been leading Dick on. But now that he’d gotten himself this deep in it, he wasn’t sure how to climb out. So he asked them about their jobs and the house and how they all knew each other, question after question, anything to deflect the attention away from himself. 

“Okay, so you guys work together,” he said, waving his hand between Dick and Ron, “but how do all of you know each other?” 

Dick took a long labored breath and smiled sheepishly. “Um - it's going to sound kinda weird. You have to promise not to judge.” 

Lew responded with a bewildered little headshake. Across from him, Joe was smirking like a Bond villain as David laughed tauntingly. 

“Actually - uh,” Dick began reluctantly. “Joe and David were my students.” 

“Like you advised them?” It didn’t seem that weird. 

“No, like high school,” Dick said. “I used to be a social studies teacher.”

Lew’s mouth dropped open for a moment and then the surprise quickly subsided. He could picture it so easily, this kind, patient man in front of a room full of teenagers, and now the age gap between them made a lot more sense. 

“The _best_ social studies teacher,” David said. “Everyone loved him. Whenever he’d read aloud from the textbook he’d put on these sexy horn-rimmed glasses, my Lord -” he spread his palm across his heart and his eyes went misty. “He looked like Indiana Jones.” 

"Yeah, well.” Dick cleared his throat and Lew noticed he was blushing a little. “It was my first year teaching and they gave me the newspaper because no one else wanted it. And then these two -” he nodded at Joe and David, “constantly fighting over what should go on the front page - “

“He wanted to lead with a sports story every week,” David said. “He said it was the only reason people read the paper in the first place.”

“It was!” Joe interjected. “It sure as hell wasn’t for your book reviews.” 

“Anyway,” Dick continued, “I got them together and said ‘listen guys, you have more in common than you think and I really need this job, so let’s figure out a way to work together, huh?’ Ten years later…”

David took Joe’s hand in his and kissed it. Joe smiled lovingly back at him. “Wedded bliss,” Joe mumbled, with not so much as a hint of sarcasm.

“And…?” Dick added expectantly, like they were forgetting something very important. They just shrugged. Dick looked at Lew.

“They’re both professional journalists!” 

Lew could tell from the smile that lit up Dick’s face that this, much more than the accidental match-making, was the real point of pride. He knew for certain then that Dick had been a good teacher and wondered what had made him give it up. 

“And you guys…” Lew waved his hand in a circle that included the entire room. “How is all of this connected?”

“Oh,” Carwood said, like the answer should have been obvious. “We’re in a cycling club together.”

“You - all of you?” Lew asked, astonished. This whole time he’d been walking around feeling like such an interloper, and all along they’d shared this most basic common interest.

“Most of us,” Carwood said. “Those guys -” he pointed to a group haunting the bar, apparently dressed as the cast of _9 to 5_. “And those guys over there.”

“Do you ride?” Dick asked, his voice hopeful and buoyant.

Did he ride. Might as well ask him if he breathed and slept and had hopes and dreams like everyone else. Over the past five years, cycling had become the enduring passion of his existence, and he anticipated the moment every few days when he could clip in and get back in the saddle with a fervor that bordered on obsession.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding earnestly. “Yeah, I ride.”

“You have to join us sometime,” Dick said. “We meet at Easy Rider on Saturday mornings. Hey George!” Dick called to a man on the other side of the room, who looked up and grinned when he heard his name. Dick waved him over. 

“You guys talkin’ about me over here?” He leaned casually against the arm of the sectional on Ron’s side and directed his next words at Lew. “None of it’s true, I’ve never even met Robert Downey Jr.”

“So you went as a bike mechanic this year,” Ron said. “Real original, Luz.”

“I’m Billy Joel from the Uptown Girl video, ya prick. Harry was supposed to be Christie Brinkley but he stood me up last minute.”

“Hey George, this is Lew,” Dick said. “He’s joining our club.”

“Jeez, you’re not givin’ me much notice to put together the initiation ritual,” George said dryly, but then held out his hand for Lew to shake and the sarcasm in his voice was overpowered by the good-natured gleam in his eyes. “Always love to welcome a virgin,” he said.

“Well thank you,” Lew said, genuinely touched by the offer. “I’d love to ride with you guys.”

Dick elbowed him. “Give me your phone.”

If he’d been waiting for a chance to ask Dick for his number, he couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opportunity. He lifted his left hip off the sofa to take his phone out of his pocket, which brought the other side of his body flush with Dick’s. They exchanged a timid little smile as Lew handed over his phone.

As Dick added himself to Lew’s contacts, the other men in the group fell into their own private conversations and Lew felt like he was alone with Dick again, and it was comfortable, sinking into this corner of the sofa like they were any of the other couples.

Dick touched something on the screen and held Lew’s phone up to his ear.

“What are you - “ Lew began, but Dick pressed his index finger to his lips and raised his eyebrows in warning.

“Oh hey Dick,” he said dispassionately when his own voicemail picked up. “It’s me. I’m here with Lew and he says it was great meeting you and he hopes we can do it again very soon. Also, don’t forget it’s your mother’s birthday tomorrow. K, bye.”

He handed Lew’s phone back to him. “Now I have your number too,” he said with a self-satisfied little smirk.

Fuck. He couldn’t keep this up any longer. He needed to tell him the truth. Lew took a long, halting breath and spoke low so that only Dick could hear.

“Is there someplace we can be alone?”

The smile faded from Dick’s face, replaced by something more serious and inscrutable. He nodded faintly and stood, taking Lew’s hand as he did and leading him out of the room. As they left, Lew saw Ron watching them, his eyes fixed on Dick and burning with an intensity he couldn’t identify. Caution or worry or anger - he wasn’t sure, but it was sobering, like someone had dunked his head into a bucket of ice water.

They went out the kitchen door and stood on the narrow patio between the house and the garage. Cafe lights strung between the buildings made it feel like they were in some romantic Parisian alley. Dick moved in close and took Lew’s hands loosely in his. He looked into Lew’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

Lew closed his eyes; it was too much, all of a sudden. This beautiful man who wanted him so openly. Who lived his life with such honesty and courage. This miracle of a night. These forces were all so strong and Lew was so small and so weak.

He nodded, tipped his chin up ever so slightly, and then the warm press of soft, full lips against his, the faint taste of light beer, the electrifying brush of his tongue. Lew heard himself whimper softly and he broke the kiss, stepped back.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Dick asked. “I’ve got the original UK release of Ziggy Stardust at home.”

“God yes,” Lew said before he could stop himself. “But - no. Wait.”

“What is it?”

“There’s something you need to know.” The words came out all at once, like pulling the plug in a bathtub.

“Yeah?” An edge of worry had crept into Dick’s voice.

“Yeah,” Lew said. “The thing is, I’m married. I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

“Oh.” Dick took another step away and folded his arms across his chest. “Does he - know you’re here?” His brow was knit in confusion.

“No.” Lew breathed a sad little chuckle. “No. And he’s a she.”

Dick said nothing, just raised his eyebrows and stared at Lew for a moment. Then he looked down at the pavers and shook his head slightly. “Wow,” he said under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Lew said again. “It’s just, I really like you and I couldn’t let you think that I’m -”

“No.” Dick waved the apology away. “No, it’s alright, I appreciate that, I just…” His voice trailed off and he looked out into the darkness for a moment before his eyes found Lew’s again.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

Lew nodded. “I understand.”

“I really like you too,” Dick said with conviction. He held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Lew.”

“You too, Dick.”

They shook hands politely. Then Dick went back into the house and Lew stayed outside. They’d known each other only a few hours, he told himself. He didn’t even know his last name. So why did it feel like his heart was breaking?

Lew began walking the two blocks to his car, certain he’d never see Dick again. And then he remembered something. He took his phone out of his pocket and looked at his outgoing calls. There it was at the top, _10:52 p.m: Starman._ In his head Lew could hear that alien rebel wail, _look out your window, you can see his li-i-ight._ He turned back to look at the house and saw Dick in profile. Ron had a hand on his shoulder. And then it was his own voice he heard, and it was singing a different song.

_Go. Follow his light. Let him draw you into the circle of his fire, let it beat back this darkness that surrounds you. Go back. Follow him. It may be your last chance._

Lew turned his back on the party and walked away.


	2. Ron, I'm Only Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron wasn’t so sure. He’d seen Dick Winters in love, seen him throw every part of himself into a reckless devotion to something that grew so fast and so big it went beyond his control. It was like watching helplessly as a little campfire turned into a raging inferno that burned millions of acres of old-growth forest, seemingly overnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a play on the David Bowie song, "John, I'm Only Dancing" and I'd like to thank my therapist for Buck's orange metaphor. Thanks, Dr. N.

Ron woke the next morning to a strange sound. Someone was tapping a broom handle against the ledge of their bedroom window. No, that wasn’t right. It was deeper, more metallic. Someone was banging rivets into submission with a ball-peen hammer. Who the hell would do that on a Sunday morning? He rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow. The clock radio said 8:19 and Carwood’s side of the bed was empty. He heard the sound again. 

He cursed and flopped back down on the pillow, laying his forearm across his eyes. 

As his thoughts began to come together he realized that the sound he heard was not a broom or a hammer or any of the other tools he kept in their cluttered garage. It was Dick Winters, clip-clopping around on the hardwood in his cycling shoes, who must have thought Ron was serious last night when he’d agreed to join him for a bike ride bright and early that morning, and whom, up until that moment, Ron had considered a dear friend. 

He dragged his palm down his face, opened and closed his mouth a few times. Water. He needed a giant glass of water, and then coffee. Almost immediately after having that thought, a sound like someone revving a chainsaw right next to his ear split his brain in half. It was the coffee grinder. Carwood was brewing coffee. 

As the heavenly aroma began to waft up the stairs and into the bedroom, Ron pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The sudden movement made his head pound, and he shut his eyes tight, pinched the bridge of his nose. Somehow, he managed to find a clean t-shirt and pajama bottoms from the heap of clothes on the floor. He heard the cracking of what felt like every joint in his body as he shuffled across the rug and made his way down to the kitchen.

If, when he got there, he didn’t remove Dick’s shoes and whack him repeatedly across the back of the head with them, it would only be because he was too fucking hungover. 

***

“I just can’t get them out of my head,” Dick was saying to Carwood as Ron carefully settled himself onto a stool at the kitchen island. 

Ron could probably guess what he meant, but he was in no mood to indulge another of Dick’s foolish infatuations. Instead, he stared into the murky abyss of the cup of coffee Carwood set down in front of him, muttering a tired “thanks honey” before raising it to his lips. 

“They are pretty dramatic,” Carwood admitted. He set two more cups on the island’s granite top and took the stool next to Ron. 

“They’re like…” Dick grasped for the right words. “Like these big, flashy movie marquees.” He held up his palms, thumbs and index fingers making right angles. “‘YOU’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS BEFORE!’”

Ron looked at Carwood. “The fuck is he talking about?”

“Lew Nixon’s eyebrows.”

Ron shook his head faintly, bewildered, and blinked a few times. 

“What is it with you and eyebrows?”

Dick shrugged. “They’re very expressive.”

Ron hummed evasively and began unfolding the newspaper. Carwood sipped his coffee and attempted to redirect the conversation by reading aloud the weather forecast on the front page, but Dick would not be deterred.

“I should have just gone with it,” he said. “Now I’ll probably never see him again.”

Ron hummed again and took another sip of coffee. He swallowed. “Well, you certainly have a type.”

“Charming?” Dick asked. “Funny? Gorgeous?” 

Ron didn’t look up from the paper. “Married.”

Dick closed his eyes and whimpered feebly. Carwood touched his arm and gave him an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea. He doesn’t wear a ring.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Ron said. Both Dick and Carwood looked at him, a united front of skepticism. He looked back at them as though they were being willfully dim. “I’ve been in the Army for twenty years, I know a closet case when I see one.”

Dick sighed into his coffee. “It is a shame, though. I really thought we had something going.”

Ron and Carwood exchanged a look. Dick’s love life had been the topic of more conversations than either of them had cared to have on the subject, and though they each approached the situation from different philosophical corners, they agreed on the basic fact that Dick fell way too easily for guys who were all wrong in one way or another, and that this fundamental incompatibility - and Dick’s reluctance to heed their dating advice - was the reason he was still single. 

“Well, I’m sure it’s not too late.” The sarcasm in Ron’s voice was subtle at first but picked up steam as he went on. “It’s still early, maybe his wife’s still in bed. You could go over there and have a quick fuck in the pantry before she wakes up.” He elbowed Carwood. “Honey, give him his number.”

“I have his number.” Dick reached behind his back and pulled his phone out of the center pocket of his bike jersey. His eyebrows arched up on his forehead briefly and a veil of quiet wonder floated over his face as he read something on the screen. 

“Is it him?” Carwood asked. 

“No.” Ron held up a hand like he was directing traffic. “I don’t want to know.” 

A tiny half-smile twisted one corner of Dick’s mouth. “It’s him.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket without another word and went back to sipping his coffee. 

Carwood let a few quiet moments pass and then gracefully changed the subject.

“Who else is riding today?” 

“I don’t know,” Dick said. “I put out a group text but didn’t get much of a reply. Probably just Compton.”

Ron made a disgusted sound in his throat. “That fuckin’ guy.”

Dick frowned at him. “What’ve you got against Buck?” 

“He’s just so desperate for people to like him, it’s pathetic.” Ron drained the last of his coffee and set his mug down with an authoritative clatter. “Not everyone has to like you.” 

“He’s had a rough year,” Carwood said. 

“He was like that before the break-up too.” 

“Buck’s alright.” Dick’s voice was calm but insistent. “And you have to admit, he gives good advice.” 

“I give good advice,” Ron said. “Why don’t you listen to me?” 

“Because you don’t have a degree in clinical psychology.”

Ron rolled his eyes and made a jerking-off motion with his wrist. Dick stood and walked his empty cup to the sink. Ron winced at the unholy racket of his cleats echoing off the tile. 

“You guys sure you don’t want to come along?” 

“I’d like to,” Carwood said. “But we’ve got so many projects to wrap up before the trip.” He looked at Ron and his voice took on a note of almost theatrical sincerity. “We really need to get going on those, babe.” Ron bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from snickering. Carwood was so adorable when he lied. 

“Alright, I won’t keep you,” Dick said. “Thanks for the coffee.” He was about to leave when he spotted a large ceramic bowl of fruit on the counter. “You mind if I -” 

“Of course.” Carwood’s hand flapped in a casual little wave. “Help yourself.”

Dick tore a banana from the bunch and tucked it into another of his jersey’s back pockets. 

“See you guys,” he said over his shoulder as he walked through the living room to the front door. 

“Bye!” Carwood called after him. “Ride safe!”

Ron said nothing. He held up his empty mug and fixed his face into his most ingratiating smile, which on him looked like some unsettling combination of seductive and shit-eating. Carwood walked to the counter to retrieve the carafe from the coffee maker and refilled both their cups. 

“What do you think that text said?” he asked Ron as he sat down again. 

Ron turned a page of the newspaper. “I was serious, I really don’t want to know.” 

Carwood sighed. “Well, I guess not much can happen in six weeks anyway.” 

Ron wasn’t so sure. He’d seen Dick Winters in love, seen him throw every part of himself into a reckless devotion to something that grew so fast and so big it went beyond his control. It was like watching helplessly as a little campfire turned into a raging inferno that burned millions of acres of old-growth forest, seemingly overnight. Every time, Ron said he was washing his hands of it, and every time, he was the one sitting next to Dick for hours at the Club or getting him out on his bike to pedal away the heartbreak or inviting him over for long dinners on weekends because those were the loneliest times of all. 

He couldn’t think about that; it was way too early and it still felt like some sadistic kid was playing Operation in his head, deliberately jamming the little tweezers against the delicate metal casing of his brain on every heartbeat. He folded up the front page section of the paper, picked up his mug, and stood. 

“I’m going back to bed.”

He walked across the kitchen and began a slow, heavy ascent up the stairs. 

“Wanna have sex?” Carwood called after him. 

He paused on the steps, mid-trudge. “Check back later.” 

And Ron sincerely hoped he would. 

***

“I honestly wish he hadn’t told me!” 

Dick had to shout at Buck over his shoulder so he could hear him. They were trying to be courteous and keep to the narrow bike lane. Sometimes, when the traffic thinned out, Buck rode up beside Dick to make conversation easier, but they still had to yell to hear each other over the roar of the wind and the tinny glide of their chains. 

“It wouldn’t make him any less married!” Buck shouted back. 

“Yeah, but at least I would have gotten laid!”

A couple of pedestrians on the adjacent walking path, two moms in stylish athletic wear pushing space-age ergonomic strollers, flashed disgusted looks in their direction. 

“Sorry!” Dick called to them, but they were already too far behind to hear. 

Buck pedalled up next to him and Dick slowed a little to match his pace. “Wouldn’t that just make it harder?”

Dick knew Buck was right, but sometimes he wished he weren’t so virtuous about sex. The idea seemed so simple when he fantasized about it - meeting someone, feeling that instant attraction, passing a pleasant hour together. And then the easy goodbye, no questions asked. Back to his comfortable bed for a night of deep, untroubled sleep. 

The problem was that he liked people too much, and he had to like a guy at least a little bit to have sex with him, and then they’d start to talking and making each other laugh, and they’d discover weird little things they both loved or hated. And then he didn’t want to say goodbye, didn’t want the simple arrangement that dissolved as quickly as it came together. 

The problem was that he never wanted just sex. He wanted a boyfriend. 

Buck understood this because Buck wanted a boyfriend too. Actually, Buck wanted a lot more than that. He wanted a husband, a co-parent to the children he couldn’t wait to have, the last and greatest love of his life. When this person did not turn out to be his live-in boyfriend Don, who dumped Buck last Christmas because he was turning thirty, which was in Buck’s opinion the root cause of the existential angst that drove him into the bed of another (younger) man, thus hastening their inevitable break-up, Buck was devastated. He’d begun dating again only recently, but Dick suspected this was for his friends’ benefit more than anything else, so they’d stop worrying over him and checking on him and just leave him alone to watch Netflix all weekend if that’s what he wanted to do. 

Dick sometimes felt it too, that compulsion to hide himself away, to go to ground and not emerge until he could come back stronger, blithe and confident, the cracks in his heart now filled with gold. The problem was that the promise of new love kept cropping up like wildflowers along his path, and he was too much of an optimist not to follow its trail. 

“Ron thinks I’m attracted to unavailable men because I’m subconsciously afraid of commitment.”

“That’s bullshit,” Buck said. They’d hit a patch of newly-refinished road and the riding was so smooth they didn’t have to yell so loud to be heard. “Sorry. I mean, nothing against Ron, but you don’t think that’s true, do you?” 

“No.” Dick tugged his water bottle out of its wire rack on his down tube and squirted a stream into his mouth, washing it around before swallowing. He wedged the bottle back into the holder. “I’m one hundred percent ready to commit. I just only seem to fall for guys who aren’t there with me.”

“Bad timing,” Buck said. 

“Yeah.”

Dick looked down at the little rectangular computer screen attached to his handlebars. They were maintaining a pretty steady 18-20 miles per hour; at this rate they’d be back at the shop within the hour. When they got there, he’d show Buck the text from Lew and ask him how he’d respond, if maybe this was Dick’s chance to finally get in step with someone or if it was just more bad timing.

“Ron never likes any of the guys I date.” 

“He’s always been protective of you, especially since Tom.” Buck lowered himself into the drops of his handlebars, curling his back in an aerodynamic crouch. 

Tom. Dick hated that hearing his name still stirred up a quiet storm of feelings in the pit of his stomach. Sadness, anger, regret, shame; they swirled around inside of him and picked up speed the longer he let himself remember. It had been nearly three years and he still had dreams about him sometimes, dreams that they were together in the way they’d always planned to be, and when Dick woke up from them it took him a few minutes to catch up with the reality that all of it had been a dream. It was never going to happen. A part of him had known that all along, he supposed, and yet he’d let himself fall in love anyway. 

“I know,” Dick conceded. “Still, it’s annoying.”

“His heart’s in the right place.”

“I guess,” Dick mumbled in reluctant agreement. 

It embarrassed him to have people fuss over him, but after his relationship with Tom had imploded in such spectacular fashion, and the collateral damage that still reverberated in certain rooms of his heart, Ron had appointed himself to a sort of Godfather role, supervising Dick’s romantic life from a lordly distance, and there didn’t seem to be anything Dick could do to convince him that he didn’t need a damn babysitter. 

“Have I ever told you about the orange metaphor?” Buck asked. 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“I use it with my clients sometimes. It’s about setting boundaries.” Buck paused to catch his breath. “So imagine an orange.”

“Okay.” Dick hadn’t meant for their ride to turn into actual therapy, but he’d take it. 

“An orange has two boundaries, right? The outer layer, the peel, that’s like the boundary that protects other people from us. It keeps us from saying things we shouldn’t and hurting other peoples’ feelings. Make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, now imagine you’ve peeled the orange. There’s another layer too. The membranes holding all the pulp together. That’s like the boundary that protects you from other people. The secret is finding the balance between letting the right things through those boundaries and keeping out the stuff that doesn’t do us any good.” 

Dick thought for a moment. “What does that have to do with Ron?” 

“He probably thinks you have too many holes in your membranes,” Buck explained. “He’s trying not to let too much of the bad stuff get in and hurt you.”

“But I don’t need him guarding my stupid membranes,” Dick complained. “I can do that for myself.”

Buck laughed softly, a sound that carried the gentle wisdom of one who woke up every morning to fight the same battle, again and again, every day of his life.

“That’s exactly the point, buddy. You’re the only one who can.”

***

By the time they made it back to Easy Rider, the morning had turned into one of those perfect autumn days when the sunshine gilded everything it touched in soft gold. It gave Dick a feeling of infinite promise, like anything could happen on a day as dazzling and beautiful as this. He didn’t want to go home and move on with his Sunday; he wanted to stay right here with his friends and fill each minute with laughter and mirth, something he could return to during those interminable days in the desert, when he’d either be grinding through a gruelling sixteen-hour shift or struggling to find novel ways to kill time. 

They were walking their bikes up the sidewalk to the front door when Buck stopped abruptly, looking at something through the bikes and clothes and accessories in the display window. 

“What?” Dick asked.

“George is here.”

Dick used his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and peered through the window himself. Sure enough, George was behind the service desk in the back, phone to his ear as he typed something on the computer. 

“This is great,” Dick said. “You need your back wheel trued up anyway, right?” 

Buck shrugged. 

“Have him take a look at it,” Dick insisted. “Then ask him if you can buy him a drink or something to thank him.”

Buck looked at him skeptically. “George isn’t interested in me.”

“You don’t know that.” Dick smiled brightly, trying to impart some of his confidence onto Buck. “You need to show him you’re interested in him.”

Everyone in the club could see that Buck had become painfully insecure about himself since the break-up. He thought George was far too cool to ever look twice at a yuppie like him, but Dick knew that wasn’t true. He’d seen the warmth in George’s eyes whenever he talked to Buck and since Buck had confided his crush to Dick, he couldn’t stop seeing all the evidence that the two of them might actually be perfect for each other. 

Buck took a deep breath. “Okay.” He nodded, psyching himself up. “Okay, let’s do it.”

The bell above the door chimed as they entered. Harry looked up from the checkout counter, where he was ringing up a guy in full racing kit, who eyed Buck and Dick a little judgmentally, in Dick’s opinion, and raised his arm in a wave. Dick waved back and then brought his hand down in a friendly clap on Buck’s shoulder a couple of times. 

“Come on, you got this,” he whispered as they approached the service counter. 

“Well look what the cat dragged in.” George hung up the phone and leaned casually forward, both hands gripping the edges of the counter.

He wore navy coveralls, the top part of which was unbuttoned, sleeves tied around his waist, and a vintage Olivia Newton-John t-shirt. The spade tattoo on his bicep peeked out from below the hem of his left sleeve, and he looked every bit the hipster that Buck didn’t think would be into a guy like him. But he was smiling in that friendly, slightly flirty way he had that made everyone feel like George saw something in them they hadn’t realized was there, some hidden potential that he found endlessly fascinating. Everyone liked George, even Ron. 

“Hey George.” Buck flashed his own winsome smile, which Dick thought he used far too infrequently, and reached out his hand for George to shake.

“We missed you last night,” George said. 

“Yeah, I…” Buck seemed to be thinking of any plausible excuse for his absence that wouldn’t require him to bring up Don, even though Dick was certain that the fear of bumping into him was the reason he hadn’t gone. “Didn’t have a costume.” 

“Wish I would’ve known, you could’ve been my Uptown Girl.” George looked at Dick. “Don’t you think he’d’ve looked stunning in that dress?”

“Stunning,” Dick agreed, nodding earnestly. “Much better than Harry.” 

“What about that fuckin’ dreamboat following you around all night?” George asked him. “Where’d he run off to?” 

“Oh.” Dick looked down at his shoes for a moment. “That’s, uh. That was a no-go.” He looked back at George. “Turns out he’s married.”

“Oh shit, for real?” George’s voice became sympathetic. “Hey man, I’m sorry. It looked like you two were really hitting it off.”

“Yeah, we were,” Dick said quietly. 

He was being pulled into his feelings all of a sudden, remembering how much he’d liked Lew - still liked him, it had only been twelve hours - and thought that maybe it would help to show both of them the text, to have witnesses. Something in him was fighting to make it real, even if he didn’t understand why.

“Can I get your guys’ opinion on something?” 

Buck and George nodded, mumbling ‘sure’ and ‘of course’. Dick retrieved his phone from his back pocket. The case was slippery from his sweat. He rubbed it against his shorts and his hand in his fingerless glove struggled a bit to work the touchscreen. Finally, he handed the phone to Buck. 

“Here. I got this a few hours ago.” 

Buck leaned across the counter so George could read the message too. Their shoulders touched and Dick noticed they didn’t move apart. 

Lew’s text, which Dick had memorized, read:

_Hi Dick, it’s Lew from the party. I just wanted to apologize again for leading you on like that. I wasn’t trying to be deceptive. I guess I just got carried away. I’d understand if you never wanted to see me again, but I was hoping maybe we could take a bike ride or hit some record stores or something. Just friends. Either way, it was great meeting you. Take care._

“Shit,” George mumbled under his breath. “This guy’s into you.” 

“But ‘just friends’,” Dick said. “That sounds a lot like ‘I don’t like you that way’.” 

Buck looked at Dick, his brow wrinkled in careful contemplation. “You haven’t replied?” 

Dick shook his head. 

“Haven’t replied to what?”

“Jesus!” 

The nasal twang of Harry’s voice cut through the shop and startled Dick so much that he dropped his phone, catching it between his forearm and stomach before it fell to the concrete slab floor.

“How’s it goin’ guys, how was the ride?” Out of habit, Harry’s eyes swept over their bikes in appraisal. “Hey Buck, you know that rear wheel’s lookin’ kinda wobbly.”

“Yeah,” Buck said and coughed. “I was gonna see if George could maybe -”

“Hell yeah, why didn’t you say something? Bring her back here, let’s have a look.”

“Sounds like I missed another wild night at the Webster-Leibgotts,” Harry said to Dick as Buck wheeled his bike behind the counter and helped George lift it onto the repair stand. He was standing with his arms crossed and his feet planted firmly on the floor, a little wider than his hips, knees locked in what Dick always thought of as his brawler’s stance. It made him seem even shorter and Dick slouched a bit to even the height difference. 

“Yeah, it was one for the books,” Dick said. “What happened to you? I thought you were coming.”

Harry shrugged. “After I got home from trick-or-treating with the girls, Kitty wanted to watch a horror movie. We opened a bottle of wine, one thing led to another -”

“Alright, alright,” George cut him off. “Come on, this is a family shop.” 

They all liked to tease Harry for how ass-over-tit in love he still was with his wife after so long together, but secretly they were a little envious, even George, a fact that would probably come as a surprise to every member of the Easy Rider bike club, who were used to hearing George talk a big game about all the guys he’d slept with or attempted to, and which would work out very well for Buck Compton a couple of years down the line. But none of them knew this yet. 

“Stop trying to change the subject,” Harry said to Dick. “What haven’t you replied to?” 

Dick sighed, feeling a momentary flash of guilt. Lew certainly hadn’t sent the text expecting Dick to pass it around to all his friends. 

“Show him,” George said, not looking up from Buck’s spokes as he spun the wheel, revolving the pedal with his hand.

Then again, what was one more set of eyes? Dick took out his phone again, brought up the message, and showed it to Harry. 

“Huh. Sounds like he just wants to be friends.”

“Thank you!” Dick slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Finally, some common sense.” But he wasn’t nearly as relieved as he was letting on. 

“Who is this guy?” Harry asked. 

“Someone Lip works with,” Dick said. “We had eyes on each other, but… he’s married.” He was getting really tired of repeating that fact. 

Harry winced. “That’s what he meant by leading you on, huh.” 

“Yeah.” Dick began fiddling with a box of CO2 cartridges on the counter, trying to stack them into a pyramid. “I don’t know, you think we could just be friends?”

Buck looked up from his wheel. “I think that’s up to you. Sounds to me like he’s leaving that door open, so if you don’t want to get involved with another married man, you’re gonna have to be the one to set the boundaries.”

“So I’m just supposed to pretend like I didn’t invite him to come home with me and we didn’t kiss on the patio -”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you never said anything about kissing him.” In his shock, George had dropped the spoke wrench. It bounced off the floor and rolled under the counter. Buck bent down to pick it up. 

“That was before he told me about his wife.” Dick felt his cheeks flush. 

“Uh-oh,” Harry said, perfectly summing up what they were all thinking. 

Dick just nodded and an awkward silence fell on all four of them for a moment. 

“Well he’s into cycling, that’s good enough for me,” Harry said. “Ask him to come ride with us next weekend.” 

“Already did.” 

Dick felt suddenly like he needed to be alone with his thoughts, to really lay everything out and examine it from all sides. Leaving that door open… He knew he was doing the same thing, and that he shouldn’t be, and that he’d need to work very hard to turn that desire off if he wanted to be friends with Lew. Did he even need more friends? He had plenty of those already. But maybe Lew could use one. Maybe that’s how Dick could justify it, by making it about Lew’s needs, not his.

Buck looked at him with concern lining his steely blue eyes. “Just be careful, Dick.” 

“I will. Hey, thanks guys.”

He didn’t understand the ambivalence he felt as he wheeled his bike out of the shop and clipped back into the pedals. The ride was supposed to help clear his head but now everything was all muddled together: what he knew was safe; what he wanted more than anything. The urge to open his heart again; the need to protect himself. All of these competing impulses, churning and blowing around inside his chest, and he was caught in a strange feeling that the only thing that would calm this storm would be talking to Lew again. 

By the time he got home, he’d worked out his reply. 

***

_Just friends?_

Dick had decided to spend the afternoon digging the weeds out of the cracks in his driveway so he’d have something to distract himself from waiting for Lew’s response. He was using a flathead screwdriver to loosen them up, but they were stubborn, and he had to really ram it in there to make any progress. Lew’s driveway was probably perfect, completely pristine, with no cracks at all, and if a weed so much as contemplated growing anywhere near his lawn, he probably had a whole team of environmentally friendly landscapers who’d swoop in and -- his phone vibrated. He dropped the screwdriver and fished it out of his back pocket. 

_Sure. If that’s what you want_

Dick sat back on his heels and wiped his brow on his sleeve. 

_I don’t think we have a choice,_ he texted back.

He put the phone back in his pocket to keep himself from staring at the little dots indicating whether Lew was typing, deleting, retyping, stopping, starting over. The wait was agonizing. Dick took it out on the weeds, really digging in and yanking as hard as he could. His knuckles were getting all scraped up from brushing against the concrete and there was a layer of dirt staining his fingertips, under his nails, lining his cuticles. Lew probably never had dirt under his fingernails, he probably got weekly manicures and his hands were probably smooth as a well-oiled catcher’s mitt. Dick’s phone vibrated again. 

_I’m game. Do friends go to concerts together?_

Dick smirked as he typed his reply. 

_Depends on the concert_

He swept the weeds up into a little mound and dumped them into a five-gallon bucket. The sun was high in the sky above him and he became aware of how badly in need he was of a shower. For years afterward, he’d associate this sweetly musky smell of his own sweat and dried sunscreen with these early days of their relationship, a scent that Lew would later confess drove him wild with desire and which had been responsible for many inconvenient erections, which his tight cycling shorts did nothing to conceal. But all of that was in the future. Presently, Dick’s phone vibrated again.

_Some weirdo from New Zealand, can’t remember her name. Apparently has a cult following. Got free tickets from a client. Turf Club, Thurs night._

Dick thought about it for a moment. It sounded very much like a date. But just as plausible, it sounded like something friends would do; he’d seen George’s band plenty of times with Harry or Ron or David. And he’d never once been tempted to make out with any of those guys. He realized that whatever relationship he was about to develop with Lew would be entirely a matter of perspective, how he chose to see it. He had the power to keep it safely within the boundaries of friendship, and he made a conscious decision, then and there, to do just that.

_I’m game_

***

A few hours later, as he was folding his laundry, Dick texted Ron. 

_Lew and I are just going to be friends. Just thought you’d like to know._

Ron’s response came back within minutes. 

_That’s swell Dorothy, now tell me about the flying monkeys_

On any other day, he’d be annoyed, but now all Dick could think about were oranges. He imagined his body springing hundreds of tiny leaks, except instead of blood, orange juice spurted out in perfect arcs, and Ron, like some vulgar little dutch boy, shouting obscenities as he tried to plug the holes. 

He laughed and pressed his lips to his phone’s screen in gratitude. He knew he was lucky to have Ron looking out for him, that he wouldn't have gotten through the last few years without him. But now it was time to trust himself with that responsibility.

“Just friends.”

He repeated it like a mantra as he folded his t-shirts into perfect rectangles so they’d line up neatly side by side in his dresser drawer. That was how everything fit into his life, obeying an order and precision he imposed unconsciously after so many years in the military. He saw no reason he couldn’t apply the same system to whatever it was developing between him and Lew. 

Just friends. He had no idea whether it was possible, but there was only one way to find out.


End file.
